


Of Cats and Conjugals

by clarityhiding



Series: Cats, Birds, Bats, and the Occasional Spoiler [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Catlad, Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Secret Relationship, Tim Drake is Catlad, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-21 01:33:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14905961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarityhiding/pseuds/clarityhiding
Summary: Selina is ruining Tim's life andno one understands.(A Tim-as-Stray AU dealing with the BatCat engagement.)





	Of Cats and Conjugals

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU where Tim is Catwoman's protégé and Jason never died. So, like. Keep that in mind as you read, I guess.

Scaredy cat that she is, Selina doesn't even have the grace to tell him in person, calling him up when he's officially on hiatus, neck-deep in final papers and just finals in general. She was probably hoping to get away with just leaving a message, the coward.

_"I'm engaged."_

Tim sighs and resists the urge to growl at the phone. He's in the university library and while the librarians here are understanding of end-of-term stress, they have a preternatural sense for anything above a certain decibel level. "This couldn't have waited until next week?" His CompSci final is done and over, but he has another for LifeSci tomorrow, a paper comparing _Don Quixote_ to the _Divinia Comedia_ for CompLit that's giving him troubles, and he has the horrible feeling that his roommate may've saved over the only copy of his History notes.

_"I wanted you to be the first to know."_

"I don't have the time or the brain power right now to help you with whatever con you're running," Tim hisses into his phone as he hunches his shoulders and crosses his fingers that everyone else is in the room is too frazzled to eavesdrop.

 _"What?"_ She sounds genuinely confused, which is weird. Normally Selina at least makes the effort to understand his dedication to school, if for no other reason than that it makes for an excellent cover and sometimes-alibi. _"Oh, you think… Kitten, no. I phrased that wrong. I'm getting_ married _."_

"Swell, tell me about it next week." Tim pulls the phone away from his ear and is about to hang up when she speaks again. The volume's down low, but the library is quiet enough that he can still hear her clear as day even without the phone being on speaker.

_"It's Bruce."_

Tim doesn't mean to hang up after that bombshell, but, well. He might've panicked. Just a bit.

 

* * *

 

Tim never set out to be a thief, he was just trying to return the artifacts his father had brought back from his digs to their rightful owners. It just happened that the artifacts had been donated to the Gotham Natural History Museum before Tim could track down the rightful owners, so he had to get a little creative when it came to getting them back. It was just his good luck that the only other creature prowling around the museum that night was Catwoman and not one of Gotham's more unsavory rogues—or worse, Batman.

That was over nine years ago, and Tim is no longer an undersized ten year old with an admittedly impressive IQ and a burning need to set his parents' mistakes right. For one thing, he's taller, is less than a year away from finishing his Bachelor's, and no longer runs into things with little more than a half-formed plan and a burning need to do the right thing.

Times like this, though, it really doesn't feel that way.

"How could she do this to me?" Tim wails less than hour after Selina's earth-shattering phone call.

"Honestly, I don't see what the problem is. Mama Cat gets a well-deserved retirement, married to one of Gotham's most eligible bachelors, you get a sugar step-daddy to pay off your student loans, everybody wins," Stephanie says. As the daughter of a themed villain, she's the closest thing Tim has to a friend who straddles both his lives. "Stop getting snot all over my pillow," she adds, because he's lying face-down on her bed, having collapsed there as soon as she opened the door to her dorm room less than five minutes ago.

"This ruins _everything_! I had a _plan_!"

"If you're referring to the plan to use that internship at Wayne Enterprises next semester so you can snag your own rich boy-toy, I don't see how this puts a kink in that."

Tim flushes furiously. "That's not why I want the internship. WayneTech is the industry leader in—"

"Blah blah blah, big words I don't understand. Excuse me, but who was it who was waxing poetic over Jason Todd-Wayne's thighs last Sunday after getting wasted on two celebratory wine coolers? I distinctly remember the words, 'What if we run into each other at WE and he _talks_ to me? Steph, I would _die_ ,' being uttered."

" _Lies_. I never said any such thing." At least, he's pretty sure he didn't. Tim doesn't remember much after the first wine cooler. "Selina practically raised me; it would be more than a little weird to have a thing for her _stepson_ ," he says, because he can't explain the _real_ problem to Steph, not when she doesn't know the identity of Batman and his birds.

If Selina marries Bruce Wayne, that means a permanent truce with the bats. A truce with the bats will mean Tim will finally have to do something about the Jason Situation. Not that there is a Jason Situation, not really. No, that would be too simple and straightforward.

 

* * *

 

He doesn't stay at Stephanie's for long because finals continue to be a thing and he still has another ten pages on master-apprentice relationships in medieval-Renaissance literature to bang out. Plus, Stray's burner of the month has been buzzing in his pocket for the past hour and a half, and if it's who Tim thinks it is, that's a conversation he'd really rather have in private, thanks.

Miracle of miracles, his roommate's on his way out the door when Tim finally reaches his dorm, on his way to his own final. "See you in three hours, if they haven't kicked me out for completely failing to remember how to conjugate future passive participles."

Tim grimaces. He's really glad he covered his foreign language requirement with ASL in his second year. "You better hurry if you don't want to be late."

"Promise you'll feed my fish if I fall in battle," he demands, clinging to Tim like a desperate man.

Tim shoves him out the door, and not a moment too soon, since Stray's phone is going off _again_.

Sliding down to sit on the floor with his back against the door, Tim pulls out the phone and stares at the initials on the screen. He really can't put this off any longer. With a sigh, he accepts the call.

_"Finally!"_

"I thought I told you not to bother me this week."

_"Sorry, but I had to as soon as I heard the news."_

Tim swallows down a groan. For one brief, shining moment he'd been able to forget about it, had been able to pretend that his life was a simple one of finals and roommates and fish. "I don't see why, it doesn't have anything to do with us."

_"Anything to do with—Stray, do you realize what this means for us? A permanent truce between you cats and us bats?"_

He does realize, only too clearly. It means that all of Tim's years of planning, of carefully covering his tracks could all be blown out of the water. "Just because Mama's marrying the guy who pays for your toys doesn't mean I'm going to retire, Red. I don't know if you heard, but this cat's no longer a kitten. I do my own thing."

On the other end of the line, Redwing is silent for an achingly long moment, and Tim worries maybe he's wrecked the best thing in his life. _"You don't have to. You're a lot more like Catwoman than you like to pretend, Stray. Would it be so bad, turning straight? No more sneaking around, no more secret assignations—don't you want that?"_

Tim draws his legs up to his chest, leaning his forehead against his knees. The offer is tempting. The chance to work with Redwing every night, to have a reliable, dependable partner at his back, to be hailed as a hero instead of cursed as a thief. "Red, I…" But his dad is still traveling the world, still finding or buying artifacts of shaky provenance and having them shipped back to Gotham, and Tim made a promise. He gulps down all the words he can't say. "I'll see you Saturday, roof of the Gotham Met. If you're good, maybe I'll even let you catch me."

 _"Stray, why—"_ Tim hangs up before Redwing can say more, because Tim's right, and this changes nothing.

Selina Kyle may be marrying Bruce Wayne, Catwoman may be marrying Batman, but it doesn't mean anything for either of their protégés. Because the bats may know who Catwoman is, may've told her who they are, but the same can't be said for the kid in the cat ears who follows her around. The kid that Batman still can't figure out, who sneaks kisses with Redwing during stolen moments between rooftop chases.

It doesn't mean anything, because Tim may've known the identities of Batman and Robin since before Selina ever acquired herself a stray, may've figured out the identities of each subsequent bat as they appeared and joined Batman's crusade, but Jason Todd-Wayne doesn't even know who Tim Drake is.

 

* * *

 

The thing is, it was never _supposed_ to go this far. But what had started out as rooftop chases had progressed to conversations as Stray and Robin grew to know each other over the years. And then Robin had gotten older and taller and broader and graduated from the loose tunic and the scaley leotard to an identity all his own, all skin-tight red and black and Stray had fallen, hard.

Which would have been great except for how the newly-minted Redwing didn't know who Stray was and Stray wasn't supposed to know who Redwing was and everything was just a huge mess. One that only got more complicated when Stray finally ignored his instincts, gave into Redwing's wheedling, and took their bantered flirtations to the next level.

That was three years ago. Three wonderful, heart-stopping years of blind spots and rooftop shadows, of dark alleys and dimly-lit safehouses. Of hushed conversations, whispered dreams, longing looks, searing touches. And all the while, the masks stayed on and the only names ever spoken were the ones they gave themselves, because they both had secrets to keep and people to protect.

And no matter what Redwing—Jason—thinks, this engagement doesn't change anything. Because while Redwing may be guarding Batman with his silence, Catwoman has never needed Stray's protection.

But Jack Drake does.

 

* * *

 

He makes it through his History final, mostly due to the pure luck of the fact that Stephanie still has her own notes from when she took the same course last year. Final over, he's on his way to return said notes when Stray's phone pings with a new message notification. Tim ducks behind a tree to check it, swears softly when he see the text is from one of his contacts in the antiquities trade, letting him know the delivery he was planning to raid as an end-of-term pick-me-up has been delayed in customs and won't come for at least another week, making Stray's Saturday night that much freer for a heart-to-heart talk he'd really rather not have.

It's because he's got the phone in his hand that he answers on instinct when it rings, and then he can't very well hang up without causing himself even more trouble. He swallows past the lump in his throat and puts the phone to his ear. "You're really bad at following instructions. The week still isn't over."

_"We got cut short the other day. Look, I don't know what the big deal is. Don't you want something more than just stolen moments?"_

"I'm a thief, stealing is what I do, Red." There's a shout across the quad, and Tim glances over to see Ives waving, already changing course to head in his direction. "Look, you caught me at a bad time, I'm in the middle of something big and it's going to take all that I have to get out of this mess."

_"What is it? Maybe I can help you."_

"Who says I'm even in Gotham?" As Tim watches, Ives bumps into a mutual friend and stops to trade a few words. It gives him a bit more time to wind up this call, but not much.

_"Doesn't mean I can't help."_

"Not your kind of help—this requires finesse," Tim says, thinking of the paper he still has to finish. "Tell you what, next time I need someone punched in the face, I'll let you know."

_"Don't be like that, Stray. You know I'm more than just a brawler. Who knows, maybe I've got just the skill set you need."_

Heaven help him, but Tim hesitates. Redwing may be a fighter, a detective, a gymnast. But Jason Todd-Wayne has one Literature degree and is working on a second. "Sorry, nope, this isn't anything you can help with," Tim lies. Jason has no idea who Tim is, doesn't even know that Stray's a student, and it has to stay that way. It has to. "I really do have to go. Stay safe out there tonight."

This time, he turns the phone off after ending the call.

 

* * *

 

"Drinks tonight? Celebrate our whole three weeks of freedom before we go back to the trenches?" Stephanie asks as soon as Tim opens his door to her knock on Friday evening.

He's in the middle of packing up what he'll need over the winter break while they're locked out of the dorms. Sure, he could always break back in to get anything he forgets, but he really does try to keep his lives separate. "I don't know. My dad and stepmom are coming to town for the holidays. I'll probably be busy with family things for a while."

"Ugh, then you _definitely_ need this. I love Dana, but your dad's kinda an ass. C'mon," she says, seizing his arm and tugging him towards the door, barely giving him a chance to snag his phone and wallet on the way out. "Maybe we can even get you laid."

 

* * *

 

It's not until he's in the bar and tucked away at a quiet corner table that he realizes his mistake. Steph's elsewhere, dancing in a crowd or grabbing another drink or something. Tim just wants to play a game or two of Solitaire, but the phone he digs out of his pocket is off for some reason and when he turns it on, it blows up with missed calls and texts, all of them from the same contact.

Tim ignores the three voicemails and, with more than a little trepidation, opens the texts.

> **RW**  
>  Hey are you ok?  
>  _Received Wednesday at 7:06 p.m._
> 
> **RW**  
>  I don't care if you're not in town, you know I can come to you.  
>  _Received Wednesday at 7:20 p.m._
> 
> **RW**  
>  It's just that you seemed a little off when we talked and I wanted make sure everything worked out alright.  
>  _Received Wednesday at 11:01 p.m._
> 
> **RW**  
>  I'm sorry about what I said. It was stupid, I was stupid, obviously nothing has to change if you don't want it to.  
>  _Received Thursday at 4:37 a.m._
> 
> **RW**  
>  It's just I thought after three years you might finally be ready to take thi  
>  _Received Thursday at 2:59 p.m._
> 
> **RW**  
>  shit sorry didnt mean to hit send yet  
>  _Received Thursday at 2:59 p.m._
> 
> **RW**  
>  *this to the next level and actually tell someone. I don't know, I guess I've just been thinking about it a lot since I heard the news. They look so happy and all I can think is, 'I want that too.'  
>  _Received Thursday at 3:13 p.m._
> 
> **RW**  
>  With you. I want that with you. In case that wasn't clear.  
>  _Received Thursday at 4:22 p.m._
> 
> **RW**  
>  Though obviously not if you don't want it also I just want what you want shit I'm explaining this all wrong sorry  
>  _Received Thursday at 4:25 p.m._
> 
> **RW**  
>  Just pretend you never saw all of that and ignore me, please. I'm getting maudlin and it's stupid, I'm stupid and an idiot and I like what we have we don't need to change anything just please please give me a call or a text or something to let me know everything turned out ok because I'm sort of starting to worry and you've never been quiet this long before except for that time you were barfing up your guts for a whole week that we swore to never speak of again  
>  _Received Thursday at 11:13 p.m._
> 
> **RW**  
>  We're still on for Saturday, right?  
>  _Received Friday at 7:32 p.m._

"Who's 'RW'?" The phone disappears from Tim's hands, replaced by something distressingly bright blue in a very tall glass.

"Steph, give that back!" Tim sets the glass on the table and makes an unsuccessful grab for the phone.

"Wow, sounds like they've got it really bad for you, you sly dog. I didn't even know you were seeing anyone." She slides into the seat next to him and takes a long sip from her own drink, something lurid pink in a novelty glass that sports a maraschino cherry skewered on a tiny plastic sword.

"I'm _not_ ," Tim snaps, trying again to grab back the phone. "He's just a friend." A friend that's currently calling, as the phone lights up in Stephanie's hand and starts to jingle.

"Ooo, I better answer this, wouldn't want to leave him hanging any longer." Her thumb hovers over 'Accept.'

"Stephanie Brown, don't you _dare_ —"

"Hello, Tim Drake's phone, this is Stephanie speaking. Tim's busy being an emotionally constipated idiot over you at the moment, can I take a message?"

Tim reacts on instinct, knocking the phone from Stephanie's hand to the floor and stomping down on it hard with the heel of his boot. "That was my _work_ phone. You just gave my real name to fucking _Redwing_ , thanks a _lot_ ," he hisses at her before stooping down to gather up the shattered pieces of the phone.

"Oh god." Stephanie at least has decency to look ashamed. "Tim, I had no idea."

"Nearly ten years of successfully keeping it on the down-low and you out me to the _bats_." He's going to have to flee the city. The state. The country? God, at least he finished his finals. Not that it really means anything, since he'll need to change his name, which means he can't exactly transfer the credits. Fuck, he wrote that blasted paper for _nothing_.

"To be fair, how was I supposed to know you had a friends-with-benefits thing going on with Redwing of all people?"

"…ruined my _life_ …" 

"Hardly. More like I _saved_ it. You clearly like this guy, he likes you, Mama Cat marries Daddy Bat's boss, everyone finds out who everyone else is, probably, and the kitties and the birdies no longer have to pine from afar." Stephanie takes the sword from her drink and sucks the cherry off with a satisfying _pop_. "Hot damn, I should be a therapist."

 

* * *

 

After spending most of Saturday dithering over what to do, Stray sneaks out for one final outing, making his way over the city’s rooftops to the Gotham Met as dusk gives way to evening.

There's already someone waiting when he gets there. "Hey," Redwing says, glancing up from the mini-computer in his gauntlet. "I wasn't sure you were going to show. I heard the shipment got delayed, something about some of the artifacts having hinky paperwork, the archeologist who sent them being detained for questioning."

"I. What." Stray doesn't know what to say to that. "I… hadn't heard. About… the archeologist. I…"

"I looked you up," Redwing says, turning his arm so Stray can see the screen of the computer, Tim's Facepage displayed there clear as day, with his name, age, birthday, family, school, everything. Redwing presses a button and the Facepage site is replaced with Tim's application for the internship at WE. "Or, I guess I looked up Tim Drake. He… you're really something, aren't you? We never even realized you were targeting stuff connected to a specific archeologist, you were that good at hiding it in between all the other things you were taking. Did a good job covering up your dad's sloppy trail on the digital side of things, too."

Stray pulls inward, wrapping his arms around his middle. This was a mistake. He shouldn't have come. "I need to go."

"Stray, I'm sorry. About your dad. About… about finding out your name like this. I was waiting for you to tell me in your own, and I thought… With Selina finally settling down, maybe you'd be ready also. But I guess you've always had a different agenda than her, haven't you?"

"…I had this whole stupid plan," Stray says softly, sitting down on the edge of the roof, because what's the point in running, in hiding if Jack's already been caught? "To tell you. Or, well. To work up to it. Sort of." He waves to the screen of Redwing's computer, grimacing. "The internship was the start. Use it to 'accidentally' run into you, sweep you off your feet, let us have a real, mask-free relationship. I figured, by the time you'd be ready to come clean about your nighttime hobby, Dad would be ready to retire, so this," he gestures to his own skin-tight suit, "wouldn't even matter anymore."

"…what?"

Tim smiles, pushing back his hood and goggles, leaving his face bare. "Hi. I'm Tim Drake. I figured out Batman and Robin's identities when I was nine and I never told anyone, not even Catwoman when she found me trying to rob a museum when I was ten. I know it's kind of sudden, but Jason Todd-Wayne, will you be my plus-one to our pseudo-parents' wedding?"

" _What?!_ "

 

* * *

 

The wedding is beautiful, though it's a little weird since Selina has Tim give her away while Bruce has all of his sons as groomsmen. At least Jason looks very sharp in his suit, even if he keeps trying to tug at his tie no matter how many times Tim glares at him.

Afterwards, they steal a bottle of champagne from the reception and sneak up to the roof of the building, watching Gotham from eighty stories up while they pass the bottle back and forth between them.

"Is this a private gathering, or can anyone join?"

Tim glances up from where he's walking his fingers up Jason's chest and almost falls off the edge of the roof when he sees _Superman_ floating a scant five feet away. "I, uh. I mean, that is—"

"Fuck off, Clark. I finally get a real date for the first time in three fucking years and B sends you to chaperone it? I don't think so, asshole."

"Honestly, I was just looking for some peace and quiet away from the—"

" _Three_. _Years_. Go hang out in your ice palace or something. We're kinda busy here."

Superman speeds off so quickly it's almost like he was never even there in the first place. "Wow," Tim says softly. "That was—"

"A total nuisance? Yeah, why do you think B has a ban on meta heroes working in this city? Now," Jason says, setting aside the bottle and tugging him close, "where were we again before we were so rudely interrupted?"

"Oh, Mr. Todd-Wayne," Tim purrs, clambering into his lap. "Let me refresh your memory."

**Author's Note:**

> [I have a tumblr!](http://themandylion.tumblr.com/) Come visit if you want ridiculous AU headcanons, rants about the English language (and/or educational publishing), plague fangirling, adorable baby bats, and veeeeery occasional fanart.


End file.
